The Rascal Flatts Collection
by CSI.Gabigail
Summary: A series of one-shots loosely based on the song of Rascal Flatts. Nick/Greg SLASH. There will be 61 chapters overall.


**A/N's:**** This is the first of a series of one-shots that I'll be writing. Each one-shot will be based on the lyrics of a Rascal Flatts song… There are 61 songs in all and although some of them will be difficult to apply to Nick and Greg, I will do my best.**

**The name of the song that the chapter is based on will always be at the top of the page… and although it is not necessary to know the songs I recommend that you search it on YouTube or download it, simply because it's good music. :)**

**I haven't forgotten about my MeLty story, Targeted, but I hit serious writers block and I had to get my creativity flowing again.**

**Thank you to my Beta and Bestie, Idina Malfoy. :)**

**Warning:**** Bare in mind that this is country music, so not every story will have a happy ending. **

**Disclaimer:**** As much as it sucks, I do not own CSI or the rights to Rascal Flatts' music.**

* * *

**#36 - Shine On**

I'd been moping around my townhouse for 3 days. I was lost in a constant darkness of both the metaphorical and literal variety.

The blackout curtains were pulled tightly shut. Not even a sliver of sunlight was permitted to enter.

In fact, the only light to grace the house was the occasional burst of light that escaped the refrigerator when I went for yet another beer.

I was glad that I'd had the weekend off from work; I didn't feel up to any form of social interaction. I much preferred drowning my sorrows alone.

I didn't even bother to lie to myself or tell myself that I wasn't broken. Because I was; I was an empty shell of a human being and I'd accepted that fact.

When Tyson told me that he was leaving me I was so shocked that it took a moment to register that he was being serious. We were everything to each other. Well, at least, I thought so. Then I realized that, while he meant the world to me, I meant nothing to him. I was just another bump in the road.

It didn't even sink in that he was really gone until he didn't come home for dinner that night. It finally hit me when I was halfway through my meal, which had become cold in the 2 hours I had sat waiting for him.

3 days later the food still sat half-eaten on the table across from Tyson's untouched plate. Usually I'm a very germ conscious person, but I couldn't even bring myself to care about the bacteria thriving on my table.

I hadn't eaten since then. I just sat on the couch, drinking beer after beer, then passing out on the couch and repeating the process the next day.

I'd hit rock bottom. I was a broken man, sinking in his sorrow, in a torturous existence between living and drowning.

Then one day, my brooding was rudely interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

I tried to ignore it, but the intruder was persistent; knocking for 5 whole minutes before I gave in and dragged myself to the door and shielding my eyes from the harsh early morning sunshine that invaded my living room.

"Holy fuck! What the hell happened to you?"

I sighed, "What do you want, Greg?"

"Why weren't you at work? We tried to call your house, your cell phone and your pager, and we never got an answer."

"I have the weekend off work. I don't have to be back at work until Tuesday." My voice was monotone and scratchy from lack of use. It didn't even sound like me.

Greg furrowed his brow, "Nick, it is Tuesday today."

Had I been sober I would have been horrified that I'd missed work, but in my drunken state I simply shrugged and returned to my spot on the couch, which was beginning to form a ditch where I had been sitting for days.

Greg tentatively stepped over the threshold, his eyes darting around the room as he closed the door behind him; encasing the townhouse in darkness once more.

First, his eyes settled on the table set for two, then moved on to the windows covered with thick blackout curtains, and finally his eyes swept over the floor, which was barely visible under all of the empty beer bottles, coming to rest on a pile of broken glass and wood against the wall.

I sat and watched him skillfully navigate through the bottles littering the floor, coming to a stop at the shattered picture frame; bending down to reach for the slightly creased photograph nestled in the center.

I knew exactly what picture it was, and if you'd asked me a week ago, I would have told you that it was my favorite picture. But now I would tell you that I hated it.

It was of me and Tyson, taken last year on our trip to New York. I'd never been one for the city but it was where Tyson grew up, so naturally I had to see it.

In the photo we were standing on a bridge, arms wrapped around each other and staring off towards the beautiful New York City skyline, which was visible in the background.

His mother had taken it. We didn't even know she'd taken it until we were back in Vegas, flicking through our vacation photos. We loved it so much we decided to frame it and hang it on the wall.

Greg was staring at me intently, a slight confusion evident on his face. I glared at him as if daring him to ask me why I had my arms wrapped lovingly around another man.

Instead, his gaze softened and realization crossed his features. Then he turned and walked wordlessly towards the door. I thought he was going to leave, but instead he began picking up the empty bottles and taking them into the kitchen; making several trips, making sure he got them all.

On one of the trips he walked to the table and cleared up the leftover food, before disappearing into the kitchen once more.

The next time he emerged he was holding a dustpan and brush, which he used to sweep up the jagged pieces of glass and wood that had been a beautiful photo frame before I had thrown it at the wall the day before.

He worked quickly, without making a sound and I couldn't help but follow his graceful movements with my eyes. It was mesmerizing in my inebriated state; his body slightly blurred as he diligently cleared the room of anything out of place.

Eventually, when the room was spotless, he walked slowly towards me and gently tugged the half empty bottle from my fingers. I made no attempt to stop him.

He disappeared into my bedroom and emerged a minute later, before he returned to my side, grasped my hands firmly in his own and pulled me slowly to my feet. The room spun for a moment and he let me steady myself before talking a step backwards; gently pulling me to my room.

He sat me on my bed and carefully removed my jeans. Then he placed a hand on my shoulder and applied a light pressure, urging me to lie down. I was too tired to protest as he pulled the covers over me, ran his hand tenderly through my hair and left the room.

I was asleep within seconds; my exhaustion finally catching up with me.

When I awoke my eyes fell on the Tylenol and water on my nightstand. For the first time in days I found myself smiling; I never figured Greg for the domestic, mother hen type.

I gratefully took the pills with a long drag of water, sighing in content when my throbbing headache began to subside.

I got up to have a shower, and as I entered the living room I sensed movement over by the couch. Cautiously, I made my way over to the source of the noise, only to find Greg, snoring slightly as he stirred in his sleep.

I smiled again as I turned and walked to the bathroom.

When I emerged the living room was bathed in light from the Vegas afternoon sun, and Greg was no longer on the couch, but waiting in the kitchen with a fresh pot of steaming coffee.

When he caught sight of me, his face lit up with his trademark smile, holding out a cup of coffee for me, "Good morning, Sunshine."

I found his smile contagious and I momentarily forgot the reason I had spent the past 3 days drunk out of my mind. "Morning, G."

* * *

That afternoon set the tone for the next few months. Whenever I was in need, Greg would be there to listen to my problem and pick up the pieces.

Every now and then I'd think back to what I had with Tyson, and on occasion I'd get upset about it, but Greg was always there to shine a light and help me through.

Over time these occurrences became less and less frequent, and eventually I was able to move on and put the past behind me; right where it belongs.

And I have Greg to thank for that. Whenever I got lost; sucked into the darkness, he would bring me back to light. He knew exactly what I needed, even if I didn't. And he still does, to this day.

It's now been 3 years since Tyson walked out on me and for the last 2 of those years; Greg and I have been dating. Today is our wedding day. Yes, in a few hours we'll be married… Well, as married as two men can be in the United States anyway.

I feel as though Love has given me a second chance, another shot at happiness. And I can't think of anyone who could make me happier than Greg does.

And now that I think about it, I take back what I said earlier; Greg doesn't know what I need, he _is_ what I need.


End file.
